“Does that herd always run in the same direction?”
“They run toward safety, and this is the direction that will take them home to Third.” His lips flattened. “This typically doesn’t happen so early in battle. We figured our fight here would be over before this began.”
The two men Stefano killed were the only harbingers we had. Flashes of blue appeared among the dull landscape. Three men. Four. Then ten, all racing in our direction, wild eyes set on some destination far behind us. Stefano was a coiled ball of tension beside me, flattening me against the rock.
He wasn’t going to try to stop them.
One man couldn’t face a horde.
Oh, skies.
“They’re too busy running out of terror to notice us, never mind to engage,” he muttered, rolling the sword in his free hand. “But our soldiers will be right behind them, and once they catch up, this will become the center of a battle. Try to stay out of the way.”
“My plan wasn’t to getinthe way,” I whispered back, and then bloodied men were racing past us, the boulder a shield that kept us from their panicked paths. It was as if we were invisible, even as ten men became twenty, then multiplied again, some sprinting, some dragging a leg behind them or cradling damaged arms in a desperate, bloodied flight.
For minutes, the only sounds were racing footsteps, wheezing breaths, my thundering heart, and the clamor of battle to our right, where Koerlyn was still being attacked by Harthon. Then the war cries rose, primitive sounds that washed over the boulder and sent the fleeing soldiers around us into an even more frenzied panic. Steel met steel, and Stefano sprung up, legs spread, trapping me between him and the boulder.
From one racing heartbeat to the next, the space around us transformed into a bloody battleground, Koerlyn’s deserters meeting our men in fruitless attempts to save themselves or maintain some sense of honor.
Right in front of Stefano, one of our soldiers tackled one of Koerlyn’s men, heaved his ax, and slammed it into his neck. He stood and met a sword, shoving it out of his way before burying the weapon in his enemy’s stomach. The resulting wail echoed inside my skull, but there was no time to process the violence because Stefano suddenly moved, striking a man with a clean swipe of his blade. The next soldier to approach drew him forward a step, where he was forced to stay as two more deserters came from behind the boulder, blades swinging in desperate, mindless attempts to survive.
I was exposed.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of metal and flattened to the ground as a sword crashed into the rock where my head just was. I sprang to my feet before he could swing again and met the man’s eyes, my purple and gold irises staring into his pale gray ones.
I was valuable. His Princeps’ prize. He would recognize me—see that he should try to take me rather than kill me.
But there was no sign of recognition in his visage. Only unseeing panic.
He swung again, and I ducked, stomach jumping into my throat.
This man was going to kill me.
He attacked again, swiping low, and I jumped over the blade, barely missing it.
The momentum of his swing pulled his sword wide, leaving his side exposed. Instinct drove me forward. My blade met flesh. He roared, returning with his sword, and I yanked the weapon free just in time to lunge away from the boulder and his reach. Again, momentum left him exposed, and I darted low, jabbing into his other side and scurrying to his back. He whirled to face me, rage contorting his features, lifting his sword high.
Using a move Harthon had taught me, I spun to the side, dodging just as he struck down. I swung out with my arm, blindly hoping for contact. My hand met resistance. The man’s roar became a gurgled choke. Dagger buried in his neck, he dropped, taking my weapon with him.
“Etarla!” Stefano shouted, driving his weapon clean through a torso as he met my eyes. His eyes flicked to my left. “Move!”
I dove, rolling to my back as a sword sliced through the air above me. Then it pivoted, driving down.
Right at my face.
My hand found the leather hilt ofsomethingon the ground,and I swung it upwards, eyes closed. The impact drove my elbows into the ground. The pressure released, and I opened my eyes to find an ax in my hand. The sword came again, and securing my other hand to the shaft, I met the steel, arms nearly buckling against the heavy weight of impact.
“Stefano!”I all but screamed, as that deadly blade kept coming. It was too quick for me to roll out of the way, too forceful for me to fend off much longer. I gritted my teeth as metal met wood again, but there was no pressure behind the strike.
Wha—
Above me, my attacker’s head slid from his body, tumbling to the ground.
The rest of him collapsed.
A rough hand grabbed my arm, yanked me to my feet, andshoved. I sprawled onto the ground next to the boulder, right back where I started, Stefano a step away. Scurrying to sit, ax fumbling in my hand, I whipped around to see who’d moved me. There was a blur of dark color. Two more bodies dropped.
For a moment, he paused, dark eyes surrounded by caked mud and gore finding mine. He moved in, then, putting me right at his back, an indomitable mountain above me. Tremors shook me as I pressed against the rock, weapon clutched tightly to my chest, anticipating the moment the two-man shield before me broke and I needed to fend for myself again.
